Waves of Energy
by Dri-09
Summary: Nothing can outlive time, therefore forever isn’t something one can offer. That’s the only truth Spencer has ever known.


Title: Waves of Energy

Author: Dri

Pairing: Morgan/Reid, always

Rating: R

Summary: Nothing can outlive time, therefore forever isn't something one can offer. That's the only truth Spencer has ever known.

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Still poor; they're not mine.

Author's note: Part of the universe created in my "Four times…" fic, but Waves of Energy can be read as a stand-alone. This piece is centered between The Third and Fourth Times.

Oh, and what would I do without my dear betas, Ana and Kelly? If this fic is legible, it's because of them. Thanks ladies; you rock my fanfiction world!

Also thanks to anariazanyr I got a date for Morgan's mother's birthday. This fic kind of wrote itself after I learned it. There may even be sequels! So, thanks, girl!

Comments are loved, framed and cherished!

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Waves of Energy

It looks like the strange wave pattern of vibrating air molecules traveled through Spencer's ears only to pull him from this rare, lazy afternoon nap; his brain doesn't recognize the alien high-pitched sound as the ones produced by either his or Derek's cell phone.

Then somewhere in his sleepy haze it clicks: they are at Derek's; it must be his landline.

Spencer twitches, forehead and nose rasping against the soft fabric of Derek's sweatshirt. He welcomes the light, volatile chemicals floating into his nostrils and that he registers as being Derek's deodorant and clothing detergent and Derek himself, and wills the arm casually resting on his waist and soft snores coming from somewhere slightly above his hairline to pull him back to sleep.

A lost battle: the annoying wave pattern persists twice more. Spencer grabs two fistfuls of Derek's sweatshirt, buries his nose against his boyfriend's collarbone and softly calls his name, all without opening his eyes. The call isn't about work; Spencer doesn't need to fully wake up.

"What?" is the hoarse reply.

"Phone… landline."

The arm on his waist is gone, leaving a stripe of skin that Spencer's well worn wool cardigan alone can't keep warm enough, so he burrows further against Derek as his boyfriend attempts to make his raspy voice clearer.

"This is Morgan."

The arm around Spencer's back tries to compensate its missing twin by traveling up and down Spencer's arm. Could have worked had Derek's hand not gone completely still a second later.

"Hey, mamma."

And then Derek, in full alert mood, is asking Mrs. Morgan to wait a moment as he disentangles himself from Spencer and whispers a 'sleep, baby' against Spencer's lips before he leaves the sofa they had snuggled on to watch a movie and goes to the kitchen, offering his mother a greeting dripping with warmth and laced with that dash of nervous anxiety which has made itself present in his voice as of late.

Spencer turns on his back and sprawls himself on the sofa, making use of the warm space Derek has just vacated.

Spencer shouldn't be worried.

In fact, he isn't worried. He isn't bothered.

Mrs. Morgan has known for two months now. Derek says they are fine, that she took the news pretty well considering her only male offspring has been straight his whole life ( the last seven months non-withstanding ). She has been more confused than Derek's sisters, less supportive than Garcia ( well, not fair; nobody can be more supportive of them than Garcia ), but she hasn't outcast Derek. She still loves him.

So what if Derek's voice falters by a millisecond when he first greets his mother? It is normal; Derek has been asleep after all, his vocal folds need lubrication and he hasn't had any water yet. Also, if Derek chooses to talk to his mother in the kitchen, it is because he's very considerate and hopes Spencer can go back to sleep.

Spencer wishes he could hear more than just a chair being pulled from its place at the table to welcome Derek's weight in it. He wishes the wave length of Derek's voice could reach him in the living room, because then it wouldn't be eavesdropping.

And Spencer Reid doesn't eavesdrop. He isn't bothered or worried because Derek hasn't been able to carry on a conversation with his family in Spencer's presence since their story took a turn to the serious road of no return.

He really isn't.

*****

It's already dark outside. They have slept for longer than Spencer had thought.

He turns on the porch lights and goes all the way around the house to the backyard. Clooney, who has been toying around with an old ball, stops and waits for him. The dog seems to be actually smiling, happy to see Spencer.

As if.

Spencer and Clooney are far from being the best of friends, but after seven months of that you-come-anywhere-near-me-or-my-master-and-I'll-bark-and-scare-the-shit-out-of-you dance of theirs, they've finally reached an understanding, much to Derek's relief and amusement: Clooney won't bark at Spencer if Spencer keeps a safe distance from the dog and his master whenever Derek is around. For Spencer that is alright. He's never cared about dogs that much anyway, although he likes Clooney just fine. And truth be told, Clooney tolerates Spencer just fine too as long as there isn't any witnesses around.

Spencer rolls the ball to Clooney a few times before leading the dog to the laundry room. He fills the dog's water and food bowls for the night, spilling statistics to convince the dog of how lucky he is for having a master whose boyfriend treats him as well as Spencer does. Clooney snarls only once, reminding Spencer that said boyfriend is also the reason why Clooney now spends most of his nights locked in his master's laundry room. Spencer gets the message, decides not to tempt fate and escapes to the kitchen, where Derek is distractedly peeling an orange.

"Clooney settled for the night?" he asks, offering Spencer half of his orange and a smile.

Spencer sits besides his boyfriend and takes a bit of his orange. It's a little too tart for his tastes, but still good. "Yeah, and he didn't bark at me; not even once."

"I think I heard a snarl."

Spencer hates the burning sensation caused by the extra blood filling the vessels in his face, but he makes an effort to shrug it off and takes another bite of his orange; he isn't giving Derek the satisfaction of seeing him blushing in embarrassment. "You'd better think again. It wasn't a snarl. He has no reason to feel anxious around me if you're not around, and he knows I was there to take care of his needs. Therefore I highly doubt what you heard was a snarl."

The small lecture only makes Derek wink at him and Spencer decides to change the subject. He is about to ask if they should order Italian for dinner when Derek mentions the phone call.

"It was my mother," he says, and there is some kind of sorrow in his eyes, if not in his voice.

Spencer fidgets in his chair not because he was nervous, but just because. "I know. I… heard you greeting her. Everything okay? Your sisters?"

Twice Derek nods in reply, and the sorrow is still there. Spencer can handle it.

"She asked about Thanksgiving. I told her my plans haven't changed."

Okay. So now Spencer can say he is also relieved, even if he feels a little bad because of Mrs. Morgan.

Spencer pulls his chair closer to Derek's and kisses him. Derek and oranges make a striking combination. "Morgan, are you sure? I'll be fine going to JJ's on my own. I'm used to this and Garcia and Kevin will be there, too. You shouldn't…"

Another good combination that really pleases Spencer is the feeling of Derek's large fingers getting lost in Spencer's hair. The moment he first landed his eyes on Derek Morgan at the BAU six years ago, he knew growing his hair longer would pay off someday.

Oh, and Derek's tongue battling for control over his isn't something Spencer plans to complain about anytime soon either.

"Now you listen to me," Derek says, biting Spencer's lower lip, and then getting down to business, eyes locked with Spencer's and all. "As of this year, your days alone and without me are over. Got it?"

"But…"

"Reid, my mother won't be alone. My sisters and their dates will be there with her and I'll be seeing her the day after Thanksgiving. I'll be there for her birthday, just like I do every year. It will be fine."

"But she's your mother."

"And you are the guy who's well on his way to ruining me for anyone else or any other relationship for the rest of my life." Derek smiles and kisses him again. "Get used to this, pretty boy: you are stuck with me, and I ain't letting you go," Derek chants against his lips.

Spencer can be athletic given the right motivation. In a blink of eye he leaps from his chair to Derek's lap and all but pins him down with his lips and arms. Derek laughs.

"Careful, Derek," Spencer teases in between kisses. "It sounds awfully like a promise."

Derek puts an end to the kisses and doesn't tease back, maybe because it's unusual to have Spencer using his first name. Actually they don't usually do first names, although in his mind Spencer says Derek all the time. On Spencer's end, the vocalization of it only happens every now and then because the weight of the phonemes put together, the crossing of this final bridge terrifies Spencer like only few things in his life can, such as the fear of losing his mother or falling back into the Dilaudid grasp.

Derek breathes in, breathes out, doesn't blink. He stares and uncurls the fingers of his left hand to map out Spencer's face, fluttering points of heat charting along his cheekbones and lips, the bridge of his nose, the tip of his right ear when Derek tucks a lock of hair behind it. There's a flush of the good kind, and Spencer leans into the touch, closes his eyes and hears the answer, more warm puffs of air than words, when Derek breathes against his chin.

"And it's yours to have and to hold."

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and leans in to press himself further against Derek. They are chest to shoulder, chin to forehead, heartbeat to the vein pulsing in Derek's neck. Spencer's thighs press harder against the firm muscles of this man's, his hair brushing against the shaved head. Spencer knows he is the taller of the two, the smarter one; the genius. None of it matters because Derek has pulled Spencer apart, molecule by molecule, and has been slowly changing him into someone better and more resilient, stronger. Spencer knows that without Derek and his strength, all he would be now was a void, an empty space, a tall walking/talking machine of facts that many would never care to hear about or pay attention to.

And then Spencer opens his eyes. For the first time ever, he sees something unknown, yet eagerly yearned for, coming from deep inside Derek's eyes and shining right there, in his dark irises. A truth stating that he, Doctor Spencer Reid, owner of three PhDs and reader of 20.000 word per minute can perhaps be the center of someone else's universe too.

A whole new life uncoils and takes shape inside of Spencer. All the empty spaces are filled with what Derek is offering him.

Is this for real? Spencer desperately wants to ask, to beg; to believe. Will you really keep me?

Spencer keeps his heart's desire to himself where it belongs, and gets rid of Derek's sweatshirt instead. Derek lets him, and closes his eyes as Spencer uses the tip of his fingers to trace the lines of the firm muscles molding Derek's torso, the infinitesimal needle punctures shaping the lion on his shoulder, his perky nipples, the straight line dividing the small curls of muscle that shape his stomach, and goes south, where Derek feels the most. Despite his jeans, Derek shakes when Spencer finds him, the erratic beating of his heart thrums hot against Spencer's lips, and the hand sneaking up Spencer's spine and pulling up his cardigan is the response Spencer needs to hear from him.

"God, Reid."

Derek is beautiful, a masterpiece made of flesh and bones, muscles and tissues, and he sounds beautiful moaning under Spencer's ministration. Spencer has a hard time trying to make sense of the fact that, yes, he can touch, he can feel, tease and kiss the perfection of man snaking an arm around his waist as his other one pulls Spencer's face up for another kiss.

Spencer gives in and lets go, diving into Derek's mouth because right now, if the hardness confined in his pants means anything, his life depends on it. Twice his clumsy fingers almost lose the fight against the buckle of Derek's belt because Derek hasn't been of much help, cupping Spencer's buttocks and pulling Spencer up to place him right where he wants to be, only without the layers of clothing between them.

"Derek, a little space… Can't work your belt…"

"Ah! The joys of being twenty-eight and horny…" There's Derek's laugh and more kisses. "Impatient, aren't we?"

"Shut up and help me out here, old man."

"Oh, I'll show you old, all right."

Ten pairs of thumbs, laughter and moans. That's what they have become as Derek goes for Spencer's fly the same time Spencer overcomes the last barrier keeping him from touching Derek for real. Derek is heavy and dark and creamy in Spencer's hand. Derek's own hands are fire melting the muscles of Spencer's behind. He pushes impatiently against the fingertips tracing the passage that would grant Derek the access into his body. Still Derek refuses, which frustrates Spencer to no end.

"I want you," he pleads, suckling the flattest segment of Derek's earlobe, his hand applying the right pressure around Derek in a silent reminder of what Derek will be getting if he lets go.

"Think again, pretty boy," Derek gasps, getting reacquainted with Spencer's neck, the tip of Spencer's member. "It's only pretty old me; nothing special about that."

"Don't say that," Spencer says with a kind of urgency that would have made him uncomfortable with any other person. But this one person here is Derek, and Derek has earned so much more from Spencer. "There's nothing more important to me than pretty, old you." Then he smiles cockily. "Well, perhaps pretty, old you with pretty, young me?"

Derek laughs and kisses him tenderly. "I like this combination, kid." Slowly he pries Spencer's fingers open and frees himself. Before Spencer can protest the sudden loss, Derek is already joining their erections in his own hand. "Could live like this forever, Spencer."

Nothing can outlive time, therefore forever isn't something one can offer. That's the only truth Spencer has ever known. Until he once again sees Derek's eye alit with that same emotion from before and understands that perhaps physics hasn't found all the answers to this one mystery of the universe yet.

Spencer smiles and covers Derek's hand with his. In unison they start pumping themselves to their release. "I'd like to give forever a try," Spencer confesses and hides his face on Derek's shoulder.

"Good, because this is the one thing I'd like to give you most," is the reply that echoes in his mind.

Then it's all about incoherent, dirty words of affection and two sweaty bodies converting this extra bounty of energy into something more primeval that burns from the tip of socked toes to the last strand of Spencer's hair as he kisses and touches Derek's burning salty skin. Until it happens: the kinetic energy of their bodies in motion reaches its apex, culminating in their own big bang of colors and heat as they explode into their joined hands, Spencer first, Derek seconds behind, and slump in each other's flushed skins. Spencer knows they are a dirty, sticky, probably disgusting mass of matter pulled apart. But they are also together, and the possibilities of expanding their universe are yet again infinite.

"Wow," Spencer puffs out, boneless and sweaty against Derek's shoulder.

"Wow indeed," Derek agrees out of breath. "Not bad for a guy eight years your senior, huh?"

"Seven years and nine months."

"Just a technicality." Derek tucks them back inside their pants and pulls Spencer's body closer to his. That's the exact moment Spencer's stomach chooses to let them both know it has been neglected for far too long.

Derek shakes his head in amusement and pats Spencer's buttocks, urging him to get up. "Come on, pretty boy. Let's get you cleaned up and order something to eat. Can't have you fainting on me because of starvation now, can we?"

"Can it be Italian?"

A soft kiss in his hair. "Whatever you want, baby. Shower first?"

"Not dirty enough. Unless you want to go for seconds first," Spencer suggests modulating his voice to the wave pattern of energy that Derek's brain translates as seductive. It works all the time.

"Thought you were hungry?" Derek asks, already getting up in what Spencer believes are shaking legs, but the arms cradling Spencer's buttocks are firm in their hold.

Spencer wraps arms and legs around Derek's waist and shoulders and kisses him. "Oh, but I am. I just have my priorities set straight." Then, touching his lips to Derek's ears, he whispers: "Take me to bed."

In Spencer's mind, Derek triumphs over physics and the laws of nature by moving them to the bedroom faster than the speed of light ever could.

And Spencer holds tight, kisses hard, and doesn't let go.

*****

Thanks for reading.


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